


star-crossed

by amaryllises



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F/M, Post-Game(s), momoharuweek2018, yeah that's pretty much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 16:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14312766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaryllises/pseuds/amaryllises
Summary: She can't ever forget him, no matter how hard she tries.





	star-crossed

The studio is not a very comforting place.

 

But what does Harukawa know about comforting places, anyways? For all she knew, rooms painted a sleek white may seem like home to someone. Furniture, black and unworn, might elicit feelings of nostalgia. 

 

“So, Harukawa-san,” says the woman with hair done loosely in a ponytail.

 

“Is that really my real name?” she asks, despite her suspicions. Nobody in the Danganronpa studio was trustworthy, and Harukawa had first hand knowledge about it. But there was no one to keep her demeanor around, the less she acted like Harukawa from the show, the better it would be. “Harukawa. Sounds fake,” she comments.

 

“It’s difficult to respond efficiently,” the woman apologizes; the shift of her pen on her clipboard indicating no hint of sincerity and the exact opposite. “I am legally required to read from a script. Seems fair?”

 

“Do I even have any say in this?” she snorts.

 

“I’m afraid I cannot answer.” The woman flips through a pamphlet stored neatly by her computer, and clears her throat. “ 'You are real, but you are also not. Your past memories have been replaced, and fake ones have been implemented to make you appropriate for our Danganronpa season. As such, all your personality traits are completely man made. Please take note that we are not at any cost for emotional or physical liability, for you, and fifteen others, have signed, and videotaped consent forms.”

 

Harukawa tugs on the scratchy blue blazer she had been forced into. A thread had come undone, and, in feeble rebellion, she twirls it around her finger, pulling the thread out slowly. She discards it on the immaculate floor.

 

“That doesn't seem to be relevant,” the woman frowns. “We were discussing housing, no?”

 

She responds with an automated, nearly robotic nod.

 

“You have plenty enough money to buy your own house,” the woman explains, almost enviously. “However, you can choose to forgo your own residence to live with Saihara-kun and Yumeno-san.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Harukawa does when she arrives in her own home (which was too foreign a concept for her, given her tragic backstory) is take her sim card out of the phone Team Danganronpa had  _ generously _ given her, and stomp on it until it breaks. 

 

She scowls. The walls of the house are painted a mellow purple, which is surely no accident or coincidence. The whole place reeks of chemicals, presumably used in the paint. Otherwise, Harukawa supposes it might be what a normal home looks like; a living room crowded by couches she would never use; a kitchen filled to the brim with essentials. The interior is bright with the sun’s heavenly glow, streaming in from reinforced glass windows. Harukawa makes sure she closes all the curtains. 

 

The stairs are unbearable. Harukawa struggles to lift her aching feet up every hardwood step, using the rail as support, whilst lugging a small suitcase full of the few gifts she had been forced to collect in the studio. There’s a reason she hadn’t trashed it in a dumpster; she plans to burn them all.

 

The first door to her left is the first one she visits. It’s more of a chore than something she enjoys. Checking every room, seeing what Danganronpa had in store for her. Seemed like the game show, except for the fact that  _ he  _ was alive, and now, she is in no danger of certain death. 

 

And now he is not. The click of the doorknob giving away reminds Harukawa of the cruel irony she had the privilege of living in. 

 

Harukawa drops her suitcase on the ground. It falls with a heavy thud and a sound akin to breaking glass; she guesses it’s the ceramic mug that had been given as a departure gift.

 

But that wasn’t important. Harukawa clenches her jaw in an attempt to not bawl, and she tugs the pigtails that add another weight onto her shoulders with unadulterated fury.

 

The whole entire room — walls, ceilings, even the floor — was covered in space memorabilia. 

 

* * *

 

The luminary of the stars still haunts her in her dreams.

 

He disintegrates into wisps of smoke that curl around her, entangle her, that make her wish she was dead in his place. His laugh transcends all laws of physics; she can hear it, clear as day, as she floats through space, guided by currents that are not real, by kisses only she can tell the tale of.

 

He extends his hand out, as cue for her to follow him, for him to be her guide, her anchor keeping her from moving adrift. 

 

She accepts it, taking it delicately. It’s admittedly strange. She feels things she does not feel; smoke that should not be flesh and blood. His hands tremble in hers, rapidly cooling, his muscles going limp—

 

And then the world goes supernova, and Harukawa wakes up, her hair clinging to her neck with sweat.

 

* * *

 

Harukawa is no assassin any more. She is not trained to slash swiftly across vital organs and retreat without even a wisp of breeze in the night. 

 

Yet, why does she feel blood pooled in her hands when she raises a pair of scissors next to her chin?

 

Her left hand graces strands of ebony hair that glisten under the bright light of the vanity in her bathroom.

 

_ “Harumaki, is it hard to deal with so much hair?” _

 

Harukawa closes her eyes tightly, before repositioning the pair of scissors at an angle. Metal clamps together, and a  _ snip _ as soft as a hiss resonates throughout the entire room. Weight, both figuratively and literally, cascades off her shoulders in a waterfall of glossy black, before finishing its departure to the bathroom tiles at her feet.

 

She spends the next forty minutes in a frenzy, frantically snipping off hair from both sides of her head in an attempt to even it out.

 

* * *

 

_ “I didn't think you would answer _ , _ ” _ says Saihara sheepishly from the phone. 

 

“I feel like you should be angry at me for leaving you guys,” Harukawa comments back.

 

“ _ It's been more sad than angry, I would say. Anyways, how are you doing, Harukawa-san?” _

 

“Alright, for now. Is Yumeno there?”

 

“ _ She's out buying groceries, but I can go get her if you want.” _

 

“It’s fine,” she reassures, before clearing her throat in a pause. “Just wanted to say hi.”

 

The other voice on the line stays silent as well, yet Harukawa can hear no beep indicating the end of their conversation. “ _ Do you miss him? _ ” he asks hoarsely. There is no clarifying needed. She knows who he is, and Saihara does too.

 

Harukawa considers. Then she ends the phone call as slowly as she started it.

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda just last minute... so there's no exact plot or anything lol


End file.
